We Two, Abandoned by the World
by shegoismyfav
Summary: Shameless fluff between Max and Norma in which he takes care of her when she's sick.
1. Chapter 1

Max was faithful, that could never be argued or denied. He had been with Norma since she was sixteen, in one way or another. He started as her director, the one who made her a star. After that he was her husband, and after a fall from grace kept tabs on her by playing minimal roles in the pictures she starred in. And once the talkies were in full swing and she was no longer working, he came back as her butler, having realized he couldn't bear to not be with her.

And she accepted him back into her life as if all their interactions in the past had never happened. It was a seamless and easy transition, going from up-and-coming director, to husband and magnificent director, to a two-bit actor, to her butler. It felt as if it was meant to be that way, just the two of them together in that huge mansion. He had fired the staff not long after he returned, finding them incompetent and unwilling to truly serve Norma. But then, no one cared for her as he did.

Surprisingly, despite what had been a rather nasty and messy divorce, she still trusted him. So much so that when he randomly showed up and began taking control of her staff she barely batted an eye. He had always known what was best for her, even when she hadn't quite known herself. And she supposed that, deep down, she still cared for him. What other reason was there for how easily they existed together?

And this was a very special year, in more ways than one. This was the year she turned fifty, but of course they both ignored that. No, it was special for a different reason. They had been together thirty-four years in some shape, way, or form. They acknowledged it in the back of their minds, and if she showed him a little more affection or he went even further than he usually did to please her, well, it just happened.

And of course he still loved her. Yes, Max Von Mayerling would easily admit that he was still deeply in love with a woman young enough, even now, to be his daughter. Perhaps that was why he so readily let her drape herself across him one afternoon in late November. She was in one of her moods, the ones that tended to be dangerous if not dealt with properly. She had called for him, and of course he came.

He found her sprawled in one of the chairs in what he liked to call 'The Sanctuary'. It was the room with all the pictures of Norma throughout her career, and it also housed the oil painting that would rise to reveal a hidden projection screen. He knew she had been thinking about her untimely fall from grace, the look on her face said it all.

"Yes, Madame?"

"Max, come here."

He crossed to her obediently, subtly checking to make sure she hadn't harmed herself. As he got closer he noticed how exhausted she looked. She hadn't been sleeping well, something he wished he could remedy.

"Sit down."

He started to sit in a chair across from her, but stopped when he saw her face. She was watching him calmly, but her eyes, the same eyes that had once moved millions to tears, revealed her irritation. He thought for a moment before seating himself on the very edge of her chair. It was the closest they had been in years, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. She shifted beside him, making more room.

"Well slide back, I won't bite."

_'Oh, I beg to differ,'_ he thought as he remembered a particularly drunken night in the bedroom not long after they were first married. But he obeyed anyway, curious as to what she had planned.

"Max, do you think I could work again?" Oh, no, not this again. Anything else, he prayed, just not this. "I miss it so much, you know. And I think I could revive silent movies if we make Salome."

No, God no. Her script was terrible, he knew that much from glancing at it in passing. The studio would never even consider it.

"I want DeMille to direct. It will be marvelous! The two of us, together again. Can't you see it, Max?"

She looked so happy and hopeful. As always, he kept her illusion alive.

"Yes, Madame. Soon everyone will know you are the greatest."

She sighed happily and laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed, the sensation foreign after so many years. She shifted to get more comfortable, and he could tell it wouldn't be long before she fell asleep. She needed it, heaven knew. They sat in silence for several moments before he got the courage to lightly rub her back.

She sighed again and curled closer to him, and he accommodated her by shifting so that she was cradled against his chest. It struck him again just how small and fragile she was. He couldn't let her hopes get dashed, it would crush her. He felt her growing heavy against him and knew she was almost asleep. He continued to draw soothing circles on her back, and in mere minutes she was sleeping soundly.

He relaxed and leaned back, allowing himself to enjoy the moment. He was almost asleep himself when the doorbell rang. He jerked awake, cursing in his mind at whoever dared interrupt them. Norma stirred, but remained asleep. He eased out from under her and went to the door, vowing that if whoever was behind it woke Norma he would kill them.

To his shock and surprise, Lina Lamont stood outside the door, looking as bubbly as ever. She had aged of course, as had all Norma's friends. He had no idea why she was there, as she had been one of several who were quick to abandon Norma when it became apparent that talkies weren't for her. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that she was in need of something, most likely money. Straightening his suit, and making himself as intimidating as possible, he opened the door.

"Max!" the blonde gushed as he was revealed. "Who knew you'd be here?"

Her voice was just as grating as he remembered it. He looked her up and down in distaste. She still dressed as if it were still the twenties. He hair was obviously dyed, as such a garish yellow could only have come from a bottle. Max never understood how Don Lockwood had tolerated her.

On top of it all, she was practically screaming. If he wasn't so professional he would have cringed and covered his ears. As it was, he swore if her high pitched screaming woke Norma he would kill her with his bare hands.

"Miss Lamont, what can I do for you?"

"I thought I'd pay Norma a visit. It's been so long since I've seen her after all."

Max dropped all pretenses of friendliness. He scowled at her and as cowered back.

"Why are you really here?"

"I-I've hit a-a rough patch, you might call it. I was hoping she would help me out."

Max's eyes darkened even more, and he seemed to grow even taller.

"Miss Desmond does not wish to see you, nor does she give handouts."

This seemed to trigger something in the woman, as she straightened her spine and glared right back.

"Who do you think you are, speaking for her? I bet she'd love to see me! Norma! Norma!" she yelled, trying to get passed Max.

"Miss Lamont, Miss Desmond is resting. It would not be wise to disturb her. I suggest you leave now."

"You don't own this house! You have no say!"

He stepped toward her and cowered over her. Fear flashed in her eyes, but she didn't move.

"Oh, but Miss Lamont, I do. You see, Miss Desmond may own the estate, but I keep it running. Now, Miss Desmond is resting and does not wish to be disturbed. She will not give you money, and she does not wish to see you. If you don't leave I will be forced to call the authorities."

Lina's eyes widened and she backed away slowly. Max stayed on the front stoop until her car was out if sight. Satisfied, he then returned inside.

"Max," Norma called when she heard the door close, her voice heavy with sleep. He was at her side instantly, crouched down beside her. "Who was at the door?"

He could tell she was only half awake, and thought Miss Lina Lamont should count her lucky stars she didn't wake up fully. He thought fast, not wanting her to know who had really been there.

"No one, only a delivery boy at the wrong house. He argued with me about the address, but I sent him away."

"Oh." Even half asleep, her face crumpled, and he knew what was coming next. "I was hoping it was someone to see me. Have they forgotten me, Max? Doesn't anyone love me anymore?"

She began to cry, and he had to strongly refrain from replying that of course someone still loved her. He loved her. Instead, he opened his arms invitingly and she collapsed into them, desperate and craving comfort and familiarity. He held her as she cried, her tears soaking through his suit jacket and shirt. After a bit, he noticed her sobs slowing and his knees hurting.

He eased them both back up onto the overly large chair, Norma once again draping her body across his. Gradually, she stopped crying and just laid there, breathing heavily. His hand had found her back again at some point and seemed content to rub circles once more. She didn't scream at him to stop, which he took as a good sign. The crying had worn her out, even more than she had been before, and she muffled a yawn and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

"No one loves me anymore, Max," she whispered, her voice scratchy. "No one but you. And you'll always be here, won't you?"

"Of course I will, Madame."

He felt her smile into his neck before she fell back asleep, and couldn't help but kiss the top of her head lightly. He then proceeded to lay his head back and remember the days he had been married to her, how wonderful they had been. He drifted to sleep hours later, never noticing the way Norma clung to him as if he was a lifeline.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke early the next morning stiff and disoriented. There was a soft weight across his torso that wasn't normally present, and it wasn't until he actually saw what it was that the previous afternoon's events clicked into place. Norma was shivering lightly, and Max nearly cursed himself for not thinking to move her to her room in the night. He tried to sit up slowly so as not to wake her, but she stirred anyway. He stilled and held his breath, afraid of what her reaction was going to be, never mind that she had been the one to get them into their current position.

She did nothing but lift her head and blink sleepily, dropping it back down when she was assured of her whereabouts. He relaxed, letting out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. Norma trembled violently, pressing even closer against him.

"Max," she whispered against his neck, "I don't feel very well."

Any remaining feelings of sleep he held onto were wiped away at her admission. He sat up, taking her with him, and cupped her chin to get a better look at her face. In the dim pre-dawn light he was able to see how pale she was. It explained the tiredness, and the reason she was laying on top of him all of a sudden. He suspected she had been running a slight temperature the day before, but it was so low that neither of them noticed it.

He put and arm under her knees and cradled her back with the other, standing and preparing to carry her up to her room. She looked up at him for a split second before beginning to squirm in an effort to be put down. He almost dropped her, but regained his balance and grip.

"Max! Put me down! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

"Taking you to your room, Madame."

"I can get there myself. Put me down, Max!"

They had reached the stairs by this point and he calmly began climbing them. She began to beat his chest with her fists, but she was too weak to cause much pain. He was actually more worried about dropping her than her hurting him. She settled down about the time he hit the landing at the top of the stairs. She just sort of slumped against him and sighed miserably.

Not for the the first time, he was grateful that none of the doors in the house had doorknobs. He easily pushed open the door with his foot and entered her bedroom. Crossing the space, he gently laid her on her bed. She was trembling violently now, leading him to believe that moving her combined with her efforts to be put down had caused her fever to skyrocket. He stepped away from the bed to allow her to settle herself, but it appeared the wrong thing to do.

Confused and feverish, she attempted to get back up. He stepped forward quickly to prevent her from doing so.

"Max, Max, I'm so cold," she whispered faintly as a violent chill ripped through her body.

He gently pushed her down so that she was on her back. Turning toward the foot of the bed, he pulled up her thick comforter that normally wasn't needed. He tucked it up to her chin, and she immediately began to pull it more tightly around herself. He busied himself lighting the fire that had gone out at some point in the night. She made a noise and he turned, worried about what could be wrong.

She was only coughing lightly, but he went to her nonetheless. He slid a hand underneath her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position so she could breathe better. As the noise subsided, he eased her back down. She grasped at his hand as he straightened, and her eyes revealed it all. Nervously, but determined to follow orders, he stepped around to the other side of the bed.

He sat and removed his shoes, ever neat even in these kinds of situations. He could feel her watching him, but he continued with what he was doing. After he had removed his shoes and suit jacket, he laid down stiffly by her side. She was drawn to his warmth like a moth to a flame, and promptly curled into his side. It had been nearly twenty-five years since he had laid beside her in her bed, and he found that even though the situation wasn't sexual he was nervous.

She pillowed her head on his chest, and his arm, without his permission, wound it's way around her back. She seemed content at the moment, once again on the verge of sleep. He watched her curiously, watching as chills made their way up her back, causing delicate little waves in the muscles. Even ill she was gorgeous. He could feel the heat she was emitting and wondered how he hadn't noticed anything amiss earlier.

He felt her tense, and she muffled a nearly silent sneeze seconds later. He glanced at the bedside table nearest to him. He was lucky, it was the one with her tissues. He reached over and took one from the box, offering it to her. She took it, and rather than blow her nose dabbed, always the lady.

When she was through with it she simply tossed it over her shoulder and onto the floor. It took everything in him not to immediately get up and properly dispose of it. As if she could understand his thoughts, she tightened her grip.

"Leave it, you can get it later."

Her voice had taken on the raspy quality of one with a cold, and just like everything else about her he adored this, too. She seemed not to notice and simply dropped her head back down, her misery as obvious as the plot in one of her old movies. He pulled her closer, the urge to protect her growing stronger by the minute. She looked at him then, blue eyes glazed from fever and smiled. It had been so long since she had smiled like that, and even longer since it was aimed at him. He would do anything to see it again.

She was seldom the voice of reason anymore, preferring to live in her world of imaginary comebacks and invisible but adoring fans. Perhaps something in his face gave away his worry and made her reach up and lie her overly warm hand on his cheek.

"It's just a cold, Max. I'll be well soon."

She spoke the truth, and it was enough to calm him. Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to her head, tensing as soon as he realized what he had done. Norma simply sighed happily and closed her eyes.

"I miss this," she confessed quietly. "I miss having someone who cares for me so deeply they'd do anything for me. I miss it all." He kept quiet, equally as astounded as he was concerned. "You're the only one left who cares about me, Max. Out of millions, you're the only one."

It had hurt him to think it, but to hear Norma admit out loud what he had hoped to never tell her, it almost crushed him. He didn't reply, both unsure of what to say and afraid he'd say something stupid. She was silent after that, and he supposed it was a good thing, because he needed time to think about what she'd told him. He wasn't sure if he should be happy she still cared for him, sad because he knew she no longer loved him as he loved her, pity her because she finally realized she had been abandoned by Hollywood, or angry that he couldn't do a thing about anything she'd revealed. He was still confused when she woke later in the morning and requested something to eat.

He rose and went down to the massive kitchens to prepare a light breakfast for her. He kept it simple, tea and toast, and carried the tray back up to her room. He caught her in a moment where she wasn't being a lady. Accidentally, he had chosen the moment she was blowing her nose to enter. He said nothing, simply put the tray beside her and left, ignoring the furious blush rushing across her cheeks.

She was quiet for several hours, and when he went to check on her just before lunch, he found her asleep. He removed the tray that held her breakfast, pleased to note she had eaten most of it. She was still shivering, and before he left he added another blanket on top of the one already wrapped around her. It was then he was reminded of the fact that she was sleeping in one of her dresses, unless she had gotten up and changed after he had left her. He knew she would be angry at herself later, but couldn't bring himself to wake her.

Instead he went back downstairs and continued on with his daily chores. He didn't hear from her again until much later in the afternoon, almost sundown. He responded instantly, putting down the duster he had previously been using. She was awake when he entered, of course, but she wasn't sitting up. He went to her side, noticing how she didn't move to face him as she would have normally.

She was paper white, her cheeks an angry red, with sweat gathered on her temples. He didn't need her to speak to know what was wrong. He went into her en-suite quickly, searching for a cloth. He found one, and ran it under cold water. He returned to her side and began bathing her face, the back of her neck, her wrists, any pressure point above her waist.

Hours passed, yet he continued to cool her down. She slipped in and out of consciousness, and once he thought he was going to have to call the doctor. She was on fire physically, yet whenever she would cry out she would complain of being cold. He didn't dare take her temperature, too afraid of the reading to do so. Midnight loomed, and he was almost ready to give in and call the doctor, when something shifted.

Norma visibly relaxed, muscles that had been tensed loosening. He stopped what he was doing, which happened to be bathing her wrists. He brushed his hand across her forehead lightly, and was relieved to find her fever had cooled considerably. It may not have broken yet, (and probably wouldn't for a day or two), but at least she was more comfortable. He sighed in relief, and Norma began to stir.

He froze, hoping she would settle and drift back to sleep. She stretched and blinked up at him. Her eyes were a clearer blue than they had been all day.

"Max? What are you doing here? What time is it?"

Ah, so she didn't remember calling for him.

"You might not remember, but you called for me, Madame. It is after midnight."

"Called for you? Why did I call for you?"

"Several hours ago your temperature climbed quite high. I suppose you woke up and realized it."

She looked away, embarrassed or perhaps just thinking the day through.

"Max, did I...well, did I call out in my sleep?"

"No, Madame."

Norma thought hard for a bit, and then she remembered. It was hazy, and she had to struggle, but the memory was there. She recalled waking up feeling as if she were simultaneously burning and freezing. She had called for Max, and he had come. She remembered how his eyes had widened and how he had rushed into her private bath.

He had returned and pressed something icy cold against her forehead. She remembered hating it at first but being too weak to move. And then it began to feel nice. Her memory blacked out after that, the next memory being one of Max bathing her wrists. There were a few more similar to that, but nothing longer than a few minutes.

"Thank you, Max," she said quietly.

Those few words said so much more than she would admit. He could tell by the way she wouldn't look him in the eye that she didn't want to give away what she was thinking.

"You're welcome, Madame."

He stayed with her that night, per her request, and held her as he had done the night previously. It was so familiar, so comforting to them both to know that they weren't alone in the world as they sometimes believed. Max knew deep down that this time would not be forgotten, as they sometimes tended to do with unpleasant things. No, Norma would remember, and so would he. They would remember all the things both said and unsaid, all the touches, all the emotions, and their lives would never be the same.


End file.
